Signing Away Our Marriage While He Held Another Woman

In the living room, Delia was curled into our couch, one leg propped up on the coffee table, an elastic bandage wrapped around her ankle.

Rhys was crouched in front of her, fingers pressing along the top of her foot inch by inch, the motion practiced and patient.

"Twist it again in rehearsal?" he asked.

"Landed wrong." Delia frowned, her voice going soft. "Rhys, am I going to be laid up for another two weeks?"

"The fascia's a little tight. Don't rush back on stage." He squeezed her ankle. "Does it hurt?"

"It hurts." Delia's voice was small, but her eyes curved up at him. "It doesn't hurt when you're here."

"I'm here," he said.

Those two words.

In all the time since we'd signed the marriage license, I'd almost never heard him say them.

Another cramp twisted low in my belly. I braced myself against the entryway cabinet, knuckles white.

Only then did Rhys look up and see me.

"Where were you? You look terrible."

I opened my mouth to say I'd gone to the hospital today, but Delia sighed first.

"Fiona, don't get the wrong idea! I sprained my ankle and couldn't walk, and Rhys didn't want me getting a cab alone and getting hurt, so he brought me back here to take care of it."

I didn't look at her. I looked only at Rhys. "There's something I need to tell you."

Before he could answer, Delia hissed through her teeth. "Rhys, my toes are going numb."

He bent down at once, checking her ankle again, his voice softening a few degrees. "Don't move around, the ligament just loosened up, give it another minute."

I stood where I was, gripping my bag strap, and tried again. "Rhys, can you come with me to the hospital?"

That was when Delia grabbed his wrist. "Did I hit the bone? Why does it keep getting worse?"

Rhys frowned, examining her, and without looking up he said, "Fiona, if you feel that bad, go lie down for a while. I'll come over once I'm done here."

"Don't bother."

I turned and went back to the bedroom, and shoved the ultrasound into the very bottom drawer of the vanity.

That night, Rhys knocked on the door.

"The guest room's too damp. Let Delia lie down in our bed for a bit. You make do in the guest room for one night."

I opened the door. Delia was already walking into the master bedroom, carrying a cup of warm water.

She went straight over and sat on the edge of my bed, and pulled open the nightstand drawer to look for a pain patch.

At the very bottom of that drawer sat my ultrasound.

I pressed the drawer shut. "You don't need to dig. I'll get it for you."

But her fingers had already reached the other compartment.

An unopened box of birth control pills.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Married this long and still so careful?"

She gave Rhys a long, meaningful look.

"You used to hate this kind of thing, didn't you? You even said you never planned to have kids in this life."

Rhys's expression shifted slightly. "That's enough."

"Did I say something wrong?" Delia's smile didn't fade. "You said it yourself. If you were ever going to have a child, you'd only have one with me."

The room went quiet all at once.

I looked at Rhys. He avoided my eyes.

So all these years, when he never made me worry about it, it wasn't thoughtfulness. He'd already made the decision for me.

The cramp wrung through my belly again. I gripped the corner of the cabinet, cold sweat beading on my forehead, but I pulled the ultrasound out of the drawer and walked, step by step, toward the entryway.

"Fiona, where are you going?" he asked behind me.

I didn't turn around.

Where else could I go?

To deal with a child he'd never intended to have, and never had any right to know about.

By the time I reached the hospital, the pain had me unable to straighten my back.

The ER doctor finished reading my ultrasound and blood work, and his face darkened.

"There's a strong chance this is an ectopic pregnancy. It could rupture and bleed out at any moment. You need to be admitted for observation right now, and prepped for surgery!"

I held on to the back of a chair in the exam room, cold sweat soaking through the back of my shirt.